Only Human
by ViltrumiteKing
Summary: In a world where the Shi'ar never made initial contact with the Summers family,Scott and his brothers face impossible odds against a government program that could herald the end of all mutantkind.
1. Chapter 1: Only Human

Chapter One: Only Human

It was a cold, clear night in Washington D.C, and inside the Whitehouse ballroom, Emma Frost was the Sun and all the power players of Washington merely planets trapped in her orbit.

Congressman Dale Nelson wasn't immune as he watched her stalk through the crowd of champagne-swilling glitterati like a lionness through tall grass. He observed her in her natural habitat as she stopped to engage the director of S.H.I.E.L.D and his wife in a bit of chit chat, and as the light caught her blue eyes they glittered like jewels. Then she shifted in her tasteful heels, and offered him a sideways glimpse of a body so luscious as to entice a lascivious thought from every man and a good third of the women in attendence. She made his blood boil, and when she looked his way, it was enough to make his head swim. Which is why, as he lustfully watched the sway of her hips in a curve-hugging white Versace gown with swollen lust in his heart, he felt no shame. Even with his lovely wife of 19 years by his side. _Surely she'll understand_, he thought. _After all, I'm only human._

"I see why you bring her with you to these things," Nelson said to billionaire industrialist Sebastian Shaw. Shaw was a stern-faced man, tall and broad-shouldered, with a full head of jet-black hair. His eyes were lumps of coal and his veiny hands were almost abnormally large and powerful-looking as he gripped a tiny champagne flute and watched over the crowd in his $5,000 Caraceni suit.

"Oh?" Shaw said, raising a bushy black eyebrow.

If the rumors were true, Sebastian Shaw was well into his fifties, but to Dale Nelson's eyes, the man didn't look a day over thirty-five. If Nelson was being truthful with himself, and he strived to always be so, it had him more than a little off-balance. He imagined it did the same for Shaw's business competitors. "To distract your enemies," Nelson said. "She's _very_," he paused, a dark look in his eyes, "distracting."

Shaw smiled, and to Nelson, he looked like a shark in an incredibly nice suit. Nelson found that a little threatening as well, since it had always been his preference to be the biggest shark in any room he happened to occupy. "Distract my enemies?" Shaw laughed. "What makes you think I have enemies?"

"This is Washington," Nelson said, "_Everyone _has enemies." He took a sip of champagne and noticed Ms. Frost approaching. _Sweet Jesus, _he thought. _She really is something else. _Then he fought with himself to focus on the task at hand and tried to recall everything he knew about Sebastian Shaw. It wasn't much. He was born in Pittsburgh, fifty-some-odd years ago, got a degree in engineering from MIT, and shortly thereafter, set to work on building his claim to fame, Shaw International. It was there that he mixed an unparalleled work ethic with immense creativity, and shrewd business practices to become, according to the latest copy of Forbes, "the eighth richest man in America." And then Frost came closer, her blonde hair like spun gold, her milk-white skin radiating an ethereal heat, and Nelson felt his stomach clench at the nearness of her. _I can't believe I'm actually nervous to be around her,_ he thought to himself. It was exciting. So, he decided to do what he always did when a woman excited him. Impress her. "Take the people in this ballroom for example," he said. "How many of these diplomats, dignitaries, and business execs do you think are foreign spies?"

"I couldn't begin to even hazard a guess," Shaw said. His expression said he was clueless, but still curious.

"Just one guess," Nelson said. "And I'll make my point."

Shaw looked to his companion with feigned fluster. "Emma?"

She wasted no time. "Eleven," she said. And there was a spark of mischief in her ice-blue eyes.

Nelson laughed as if a child had just told him they should ride their bikes to the moon. "That's what I mean, Shaw. Washington…the world…is a much more dangerous place than you realize."

Shaw smiled that shark-like grin of his, and Nelson gave them his best I-mean-business-look, like he was about to impart some great bit of wisdom to his new companions and they would do well to take note. "I'd say there are at least fifty spies here at this party. And I think I'm being conservative."

"That _is _what you are good at, isn't it," Emma said, "being conservative?" She gave him a look that could cut glass, then she snaked her arm around Shaw's and whispered in his ear.

"Emma is confident there are only eleven spies at this particular Whitehouse charity ball, Congressman Nelson." Shaw continued to flash that shark-like grin. "Not that it matters one way or the other, but I am inclined to believe her."

Nelson' gaze hardened on the woman. "Please, call me Dale." Then he leaned in, put a hand on Shaw's shoulder and whispered conspiratorially. "Can we talk? Away from the women?"

Shaw nodded. "Emma, darling. Perhaps you can introduce Mrs. Nelson here to some of your friends?"

"Certainly dear." Then, smiling, she took the older woman by the arm and led her off. "Come on, Rhonda," she said. "Let's let the men do their thing, and see if we can't stir up some trouble. Have you met Tony Stark?"

When they were gone, Nelson turned to Shaw. "She's breathtakingly beautiful but, perhaps you shouldn't rely so heavily on the council of a woman."

"Emma Frost is the CEO of a Fortune 100 company, and well-versed in the ways of politics and power, among other things. As far as _inner cirlces _go, one could do a lot worse."

"I meant no offense."

Shaw waved away his apology with one powerful hand. "So tell me, what is it you would like to discuss…away from the women?"

"Robert Kelly," Nelson said. "Do you know him?"

"Junior Republican Senator from Massachusetts. Four years at Georgetown. Harvard Law. A man whose rising star nearly rivals your own."

Nelson nodded. "My only real competition for the Republican party candidacy." He took a sip of champagne. "The Democrats have had their run, the country's ready to put a Republican back in office. I think it should be me," he said.

"The public is afraid of the mutant population, and they no longer believe a democrat can protect them."

"But, I _can_ protect them."

"Ah, ambition." One of Shaw's diamond cufflinks caught the light and shone like a tiny star.

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Quite the contrary," Shaw said. He stood as still as an old oak, making Nelson wonder if their wasn't some elite military service hidden on his record somewhere. "I believe ambition is the greatest virtue a man can have."

"I agree. And what greater ambition than to be the most powerful man in the world?"

"Indeed."

Nelson put an arm on his shoulder. "I'd like to offer you the chance to get in on the ground floor."

"Of your run to the White House?"

"Yes," Nelson said with a smile.

Shaw smiled back. "You're a smart man, Nelson-"

"Call me Dale."

Shaw went on. "You're a smart man. Cold, calculating, and bold. Above all things, bold. I know you don't offer this friendship for free."

"No, but the price is small."

"Dare I ask?"

"We need to slow Kelly's ascent."

Shaw nodded. Then paused for a brief moment to think, one hand cupping his chin. "Sex scandal?"

Nelson shook his head. "Never happen. I've already had my people checking. He has no taste for boys and he's still not over his wife's untimely death."

"I'm sure I could figure something out." Shaw let his gaze drift over to where Emma stood.

"After losing his wife, the public sympathizes with him too much. They might even be willing to forgive certain…indescretions. No, the only thing that can slow a man like him down is failure. Massive, epic, highly-publicized failure."

"You sound as if you already have something in mind."

"I do. There is a special project that Kelly is spearheading. A U.S. think tank in the Nevada desert, run by a Dr. Trask, has been quietly developing a program called Sentinel. It's supposed to be Kelly's answer to this country's rapidly growing mutant problem. Reports on what exactly the project entails are inconclusive, but it doesn't matter. I need you to make sure the Sentinel program fails, and fails miserably."

"I thought you were on the anti-mutant bandwagon as well. Won't this hurt the cause?"

"Screw the cause. The only thing I'm interested in is seeing this blow up in Kelly's face."

"I see," Shaw said. "And what is it you think _my _money can do that no one else's can? Afterall, there's Wilson Fisk." He pointed to a massive bald man in a white suit. "There's Tony Stark." He motioned towards a handsome man with slick, black hair who clutched a bottle of Cristal, and stood amidst a cluster of gorgeous women. "And there, talking to the Secretary of Defense, is Norman Osborn." He gestured at a wild-eyed, auburn-haired man holding court with SecDef.

"All rich bastards, to be sure. But, I was told that you were the only one with the _imagination _to do what I need done."

"The only _rich bastard _with the imagination to do what you need done."

"I meant no disrespect."

"Of course not."

"I'm not asking for a favor," Nelson said. His tone was placatory. "I come bearing gifts. As I said before, I'll take you with me, all the way to the Whitehouse."

Shaw finished his drink and plucked another flute of champagne from the tray of a passing server. "A couple of years from now?"

"What's a couple of years to men like us?"

"Everything," Shaw said, fixing him with a hard stare. "Time is everything. And a _couple of years _is far too long to wait to reap the benefits of this arrangement."

Nelson's brow furrowed. "I'm listening."

"There is an island in Southeast Asia called Madripoor. The U.S. embargo of Madripoor has crippled the country's economy, helping to foster an atmosphere of crime and corruption that makes it hard for men like me to do business there. You get the embargo lifted, and I'll take care of your Kelly problem."

"I know a little bit about Madripoor," Nelson said, "and their human rights reputation is atrocious, and I mean South African-apartheid-atrocious. There's no way I can get that embargo lifted. I have a lot of friends in this town, but no one has enough friends to make that happen."

"Then, make more friends."

Nelson shook his head. You're not hearing me. It's impossible."

"Nevertheless, that's my price. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I've had enough partying for one night." He started to walk off, then turned back to face Nelson. "I wouldn't ask this if I didn't think it was possible. After all, you're only human." Then he walked off and left Dale Nelson clutching two empty champagne flutes.

* * *

><p>The junior Senator from Massachussetts, Robert Kelly, loved one thing above all else: success. Which is why he so enjoyed Whitehouse parties. After all, what could benefit his desire for upward advancement more than rubbing elbows with the most powerful people in the world on a consistent basis?<p>

So, as he stood there in a black Chiari suit and soaked in the evening's excitement, he sipped from his champagne flute and coolly watched the crowd. _What are you up to Dale? _he wondered, as he spotted Congressman Dale Nelson speaking in hushed tones to business mogul Sebastian Shaw. Part of him wanted to go over and throw his hat in the ring, Sebastian Shaw would be a powerful ally to have. But, he decided against it. _I'll wait. Wouldn't want to look desparate. Desparate equals weak. "Never appear weak," _his father used to say. But, over the course of his political career he'd learned that sometimes it was advantageous to feign weakness. However, now was not one of those times, and as he continued to sip champagne and watch the crowd, he spotted S.H.I.E.L.D director, Nick Fury, headed down the hallway, presumably for the men's room. Kelly straightened a silk tie that wasn't out of place and headed to intercept the salt-and-pepper-haired man.

"Director Fury," he called as he caught up to him.

Fury was dressed in a single-breasted, charcoal Calvin Klein suit, and a beautiful, platinum, Harry Winston watch adorned his right wrist. Kelly's gaze was drawn directly to the watch, and not just because it was beautiful. Fury had a well-known penchant for the gadgets produced by his agency's Science and Technology Directorate. There was no telling what high-tech weaponry was concealed within the inner workings of the time piece. Kelly had once heard tale of an instance where Fury was upset with a subordinate, and with the press of a single button, he melted the man down to a red-pink puddle. The senator felt a wave of dread and anxiety at the thought of Fury melting _him _down to a puddle with the touch of a button. And the fear he felt didn't seem at all an irrational thing at the moment. _When I'm president, the first thing I'll do is get one of those watches, _he thought.

The director greeted him with a smile, "Robert."

"A moment of your time, after you're done of course." The men's room was ten feet away.

"Why wait?" Fury said. Then, he turned and strided for the door. Kelly anxiously followed.

The bathroom was bathed in soft, amber light, and smelled of citrus fruit. A large photograph of Sir Edmund Hillary at the top of Mount Everest hung on the far wall. Kelly found himself staring at it, entranced.

"You want in on this?" Fury said. That's when Kelly looked down and realized the director of SHIELD had just offered him a silver, 8oz flask. Kelly was more than a little startled, and reflexively took it. "Wife never lets me drink at these things," Fury said as Kelly took a pull. "Shit, can you imagine not being able to drink at one of these godawful parties?"

Kelly winced as the whiskey burned his throat. "No sir, I cannot." He handed the flask back to Fury and the director took a long drink. When he was done he met Kelly with narrow, intelligent eyes. "So," he said, "what do you want?"

"I hear you're not gonna run."

Fury took a drink. "Nope. You can rest easy."

"Haven't lost your stomach for politics have you?"

Fury laughed heartily at that. "I never had much stomach for politics. Too many vices. The three Bs do me in every time."

"The three Bs?"

"Booze, babes, and Black Ops."

They both laughed.

"You're an ornery sonofabitch, I'll give you that," Kelly said.

"Now you sound like my ex-wife."

"Which one?"

Fury laughed again. "Kelly, you old dog, who knew you had a sense of humor?"

"Certainly not the nuns back in grade school. And I've got the welts to prove it." He rubbed his backside for effect.

"I always wanted to bag a nun," Fury said, thoughtfully. "Let's see, first wife was a welder. Really hot, if you can believe it. Second wife was a painter. Real messy, real fun."

"Third wife?"

"Retired fashion model."

"You're moving up in the world."

"Don't I know it. But, I've already got wife number four in my sights."

"Do I know her?"

"That depends. Do you know Julia Roberts?"

"The movie star?"

"The one and only."

Kelly smiled and shook his head. "Dream big, I guess."

"Not _dream _big. _Go _big. Or go home," Fury said. "Wheels are already in motion."

_Go big or go home, _Kelly thought. _Sound advice_. And he took it. "You like running SHIELD, don't you?" It was a rhetorical question. He knew Fury loved his job. The same job he'd held for the last seven years. Ever since President Golden had offered him the position shortly after his own inauguration. That was a strange friendship, Kelly thought: the privileged son of a Supreme Court Judge, and a scruffy, rough-necked war hero. But, he supposed if you introduced a man to his future wife, sometimes social class could be overlooked.

Fury's eyes narrowed. "I've had worse jobs."

"But, have you had _better_?"

Fury took a swig, never taking his eyes off the presidential candidate.

"I could use a man like you in my corner."

Fury raised an eyebrow, obviously not an easily startled man. "What?"

"You could pick your post. Secretary of Defense, State, _Vice _President, you name it. It's yours. I'd even let you keep the SHIELD command, if that's what you want."

Fury looked at him with doubt in his eyes. "Cross party lines, Robert?"

"Stranger things have happened."

"And what would I have to do?"

"Commit."

"To what? And don't tell me that godawful Sentinel program."

"The Sentinel Initiative is going to happen, Fury. One way, or another."

"Then what do you need me for?"

"Don't play coy with me. Not only are _you _too old for it, but so am I."

Fury frowned.

"You're a war hero," Kelly went on. "The public looks up to you. With a positive endorsement from you, this thing could go a whole lot smoother."

"Those machines are an abomination."

"The _mutants _are an abomination." Kelly tugged on his tie. His voice was cool, but his eyes burned like black suns. As long as Fury couldn't read eyes, Kelly felt sure his emotions wouldn't betray him.

"Just tell me this isn't about revenge."

_Guess he can read eyes_, Kelly thought. "What's revenge compared to national security? These monsters are everywhere."

"You know what I see, if those machines are allowed into action? I see internment camps, civil rights violations, _human _rights violations, riots, war. This country's been through all that before. Nobody wants to go down that road again."

"_Human _rights violations? They're not _human!_"

"They _are _human, Kelly. They just don't look like us."

"Think what you want," Kelly said. "But, the mutant problem is real, Fury. Two weeks ago in Chicago, a mutant behemoth wearing a metal helmet robbed nearly half the banks in the city. A dozen officers were killed, the police were helpless to stop him. Last week, a school in Ohio was burned to the ground by the first manifestation of a mutant girl's ability to charge the molocules in the air around her. Six children and one teacher died. Two days ago in Manhattan there were eye witness reports that a mutant calling himself _Spiderman _robbed and assaulted a group of elderly citizens."

"My organization is aware of all of those things," Fury said. "And I'm not saying you don't have a point. Times _are _changing-"

Kelly interrupted him. "And we need to change with them." _Time for the big guns, _Kelly thought to himself. "I'm even hearing rumors of a mutant _terrorist _organization…" Kelly let his words hang. He knew the word, _terrorist, _was catnip to men like Fury.

"You shouldn't be hearing those kinds of rumors," Fury said. His face and mood darkened.

"Is it true?"

Fury frowned, then seemed to relent. "First, I'm going to need to know where you heard that rumor." Then he emptied the flask of whiskey down his gullet and glared at the possible next President of the United States. "Second," he sighed. "I'm not going to fight you on the Sentinel program."

* * *

><p>Sebastian Shaw and Emma Frost climbed into the backseat of a black Mercedes Limousine flanked by a knot of Whitehouse-isssue, crew-cut-wearing, M4-toting, Marine bodyguards. "You don't mind if I swoon do you?" Emma asked. "All these Marines, what's a girl to do?"<p>

"Be my guest," Shaw said. He produced a Cuban cigar from his inner jacket pocket, bit the end off and lit it as he took a few quick pulls. The limo quickly filled with smoke and the aroma of the fine cigar. Notes of mahogany wood, amber, vanilla oil, and fine tobacco danced for his senses and made a sweet, smokey, gray fog. He knew Emma wouldn't mind the smell, since she'd once told him a story about how her grandfather used to always smoke cigars whenever he visited her father's country estate. Actually she'd done more than tell him a story. She'd shown him. It was one of the little oddities of being friends with a top-shelf telepath. She'd projected images into his mind of the visits her grandfather would make. Their trips to her father's study where he would go to smoke. How he would sit her on his knee. And then she showed Shaw how her grandfather's hands would disappear into places she had never been touched. And how at first she didn't like it, but then she grew to enjoy it very much. She showed him how soon the relationship escalated, and she showed him how after a few years of this, she began to realize she could use her body to control her grandfather, and later on, all men. And this was _before _the telepathy kicked in. Then, when she was just eighteen years old, she used her influence over her grandfather to usurp her father as heir to the family's financial empire. Her father and older siblings had despised her for this. But, what could they do? Her power grew by the day, and so did her ruthlessness. And as Shaw watched her now, through the haze of cigar smoke, he could see the change in her. Her muscles relaxed, her eyes entered a dreamy state, and a roguish smile crept across her face.

"Perhaps I should take a few of them home to play with," she said. Her voice was like velvet. It was the cigar smoke. It got her every time. If he'd had any sense at all he would've never lit the damn thing, but it was too late now.

"I don't suppose I could dissuade you of that?"

"Now Sebastian," she said. "Don't be such a fuddy duddy." She propped herself up onto her knees, back arched, chest out. She batted her eyes. "I've been a good girl _all _night. Allow me this little indulgence?"

He sighed. "Fine." And he regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth. He knew she could sense his regret, but it didn't matter to her. Her eyes flashed, and the door opened, and three handsome, clean-shaven, blank-faced Marines climbed into the car. Emma grinned wide like the cat that ate the canary. "Boys," she called, with open arms. Her voice was thick with excitement. "Come to momma."

Shaw shook his head, then caught the driver watching them in the rearview mirror. "Home," he told the man, then he thumbed the button and raised the partition.

"Why do you do it, Sebastian?" She was curled up on the lap of her new toys like a lazy cat.

"Do what?" He puffed his cigar and stared out the window.

"Why do you play these games with the humans? Wouldn't it be easier to use my telepathy to get us everything we desire?" One of the marines kissed her wrist.

"You said it yourself, there are beings with extraordinary psychic power out there and you can feel them exerting their will, influencing events, pushing and pulling. You being as powerful as you are leads me to believe that when you make _big moves_, they can feel you as well." He continued to look out the window, refusing to acknowledge the orgy about to take place a few feet from where he sat.

"And you _fear _them?" she asked. Her voice was thick with disgust. "You wish to _hide _from them?" Two Marines kissed each side of her neck.

"I wish to _hide_ from _everyone,_" he said, turning to face her. "That's how the Hellfire Club rules, Emma. From the _shadows_." He ground his cigar out in the ash tray. He'd lost his taste for the thing.

"I do not fear Farouk, or Xavier, or _any _of the others," she said. "Let them feel my power and be humbled by it." Her eyes flashed with anger as she spoke.

Shaw could feel the air inside the limo grow thick with invisible energy.

"Emma, stop it."

"You lower yourself to make congress with them. It cheapens you. It's behavior unfitting of a king." The three Marines stopped pawing over Emma and picked up their carbines, pointing them at Shaw.

"Watch your tone Emma."

"Why?" she said. "I do not fear you, Sebastian. You must behave like a king, if you want to be treated like one." She smiled and crossed her legs in a flash of smooth, pale, skin. He heard bolts chambered and safeties clicked _off_.

"Emma. Do. Not. Do. This."

"Do what?" she said. And as the marines squeezed their triggers, the world exploded in a kaleidoscope of bright flashes and staccato thunderclaps.

The fusillade of steel-jacketed bullets jack-hammered into Shaw's face, neck, and chest, the leather seats, the windows, the door panels. 90 rounds in the span of a few seconds. The noise was a living creature, monstrous in size and murderously rabid, and when the cacophony ceased, the car was filled with even more gray smoke and the stench of cordite.

From all around them came the scream of tortured metal, as the car trembled and shook like the world had opened up beneath them. And when the smoke had cleared, Sebastian Shaw stood in the middle of a busy intersection, jagged chunks of metal clutched tightly in his powerful hands, his clothes torn to shreds, the car cracked in half like an egg, and Emma and her Marines sprawled on the pavement.

Glass coated the ground like sugar beneath his feet, and his massive, hirsute chest heaved with every breath he took, not a drop of blood in sight. He scowled at Emma while traffic screeched to a halt around them, and the more curious onlookers left their cars. She blinked big eyes at him, and as the marines got past the initial shock of having the car torn apart with them inside, they scrambled to reload their weapons. But, Shaw was too fast, and too strong, and with one monstrous backhand blow, he sent all three of them flying across the intersection like small rocks skipped on a pond. He felt their bones snap like twigs under his power. One hit a light pole. One hammered into the side of a U.P.S. flat panel truck. The third bounced on the sidewalk in front of a pair of onlookers.

That roguish smile crept across Emma's face again, and she walked, gracefully, over to where Shaw stood, and knelt in front of him, Versace gown be damned. "My king," she said, and she grabbed his hand and kissed his ring.

Shaw sighed, looked down at her, then up at all the spectators. He felt like a fool. She had goaded him, manipulated him like every other man she'd ever known. And three young men had payed the ultimate price for it. Simply, because she'd wanted to prove a point. She was a true monster. But, she'd also possessed incredible power. And in the end, that was all that mattered. Power, and who possessed it. "Can you make this go away?" he asked. His tone was weary.

"My king need only ask." She looked up at him lovingly.

"Fine," he said. "Do it. And let's go home."


	2. Chapter 2: Bad Tradecraft

Chapter Two: Bad Tradecraft

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.

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"Don't be angry with me." Rivka's delicate, brown hands trembled as they clutched a green paper cup. The air was thick with the smell of coffee beans and pastries, and the floor was sticky under Scott Summers' feet as Jazz music played softly in the background. Outside, golden sunlight made the DC landscape unseasonably warm.

"I'm not angry, Rivka," he told her. "You said you were scared, you said you felt like the walls were closing in on you. I came to reassure you they aren't. The walls are just fine." He smiled, reached out and squeezed her trembling hands.

"So, you're not angry?" Her brown eyes took on a hunted look, and she reminded him of a deer caught in headlights. As he sat across the table from her, he found himself admiring her looks. She was long-limbed, doe-eyed, and exotically beautiful. From Lebanese and Irish descent, she once told him that she got her looks from her mother, who'd spent time as a runway model, and her engineering talent from her father, who'd helped Howard Stark build his vast technological empire. Scott tried to imagine what he'd inherited from his parents. He was six-foot-three like his Air Force father, with the old man's brown hair and brown eyes to match. Also, if he was being honest with himself, he'd probably inherited the former fighter pilot's ability to see the big picture, his work addiction, his lack of emotion, his leadership, his competitive nature, his gift for meticulous planning, and his desire to subconsciously or not, play knight-in-shining-armor to any and all damsels in distress. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't think of _anything _he'd inherited from his mother. If the latest science journals were correct, even his _mutation _had been passed down to him through his father's genes. It bothered him to no end to think he'd inherited nothing from her. His brother, Alex, had at least gotten her golden-blond hair, while Gabriel had been blessed with her gift for art.

"No, Rivka, I'm not angry," Scott said, answering her question. He tried to give her a reassuring look, but it was hard to convey through dark red sunglasses. So, he took them off.

"I've never seen your eyes before," she said. The fear slid from her face as if it were a tangible thing, like a mask being removed. "They're pretty."

"Yes, well," he said, blushing, "I want you to know how serious I am about protecting you."

She smiled. "Even though you told me that meeting in person more than once is bad tradecraft? And that bad tradecraft can get you killed?"

"I'm here because you sounded terrified on the phone. You don't have to be terrified. If you feel like you can't do this anymore, then you're free to stop. All you have to do is say the word and it's over."

"Really?"

"I've told you before, Rivka, I don't want you to risk your life. Not over this. I'll find some other way to get the information I need."

She looked down, chewed on his words, then looked up again. "That won't be necessary," she said. "I have something." She started to reach into her purse, when, from the kitchen, came the crash of a metal pot slipping from someone's hands and exploding into the floor. Reflexively, she jerked back, startled, and her hand knocked over her coffee, spilling it across the table in a sweet, sticky, brown puddle. After the brief moment of panic, her mind seemed to make the connection that there was no threat. She cursed. "I'm so sorry," she said. "This whole thing has me really on edge." She pulled a few napkins from the dispenser that sat in the middle of the table, and began mopping up her mess.

"You have nothing to worry about," he told her, "I won't let anyone hurt you." Silently, he hoped it wasn't a lie.

She smiled, then reached for the package again.

"Slide it to me under the table," he told her. "What is it?" he said, once the documents were in his hands.

"Intel on something called the Sentinel Initiative."

"Sentinel Initiative? What's that?"

"It's all in the packet, but…it's big." Scott watched the fear creep across her face like a shadow. "Why are you doing this?" she asked. "I mean, you say you don't work for any government, how old are you?"

"How old do I look?"

"You can't be a day over twenty."

He flashed her a big smile.

"You're not a Russian spy, are you?"

"No," he said, and the smile was gone. Replaced by tenderness. "Listen, do you feel good about what you're doing? I mean inside, in your heart?"

"Yes."

"Then, trust your instincts."

"I don't want to hurt national security or anything, but I'm thirty years old, I've been to college, I've traveled the world. I'm smart enough to know that not all mutants are bad. Especially not bad enough to deserve what's about to happen to them."

_What's about to happen to them. _Scott didn't like the sound of that."I'll make sure I put this to good use," he said. "Count on it."

"Oh God." She craned her neck to see out the window. They had a seat at the back of the café with a clear view of all points of ingress and egress. Scott had insisted on it.

"What?" he said. But, he didn't need to hear her answer. He saw them plain as day. Two men. Black suits. Sunglasses. They could've worked in any office building in the world, and could've just been coming to grab a cup of coffee. But, then he saw the guns. And truthfully, he saw the guns first: sleek, black, sound suppressor-equipped MP5 submachine-guns: the workhorse shoulder weapon of police, counter-terrorists, and other CQB units the world over.

"They're coming for me, aren't they?" Rivka said.

"They are."

"But, it's daylight, and we're in a public place."

"They're trying to send a message."

"You have to get me out of here. You promised you would protect me."

"I will, Rivka. Now, stand up slowly," he said, dropping a ten dollar bill on the table.

"I knew this would happen. We're going to die."

"We're fine. Just stay calm and do as I say." His glasses slid a little lower down the bridge of his nose and he pushed them back into place with an index finger. Then, he pulled a small folding knife from his pocket, palmed it, and grabbed her elbow gently. "Let's go." He led her toward the public restrooms in the northeast section of the building, where he cut the wire connecting the emergency exit door to the alarm klaxon. "After you," he said, holding the door open for her.

"You drive?" he asked, as he led her, by the elbow, up the block. If they had to make their escape on foot, he knew he could run a marathon in wingtips if necessary, but he wasn't so sure about her level of fitness. Though she certainly looked fit enough.

"Took the subway," she said.

If he was bothered by her answer, he didn't let it show. Instead, he put his index finger and his thumb in his mouth and whistled for the cab approaching them. The driver pulled over and they climbed in.

"Where to?" the driver asked. He was in his early 40s, bald, with wire-rimmed glasses, and a New York accent. His cab smelled like Mexican food and cigarettes.

"The McManus building," Scott replied.

Rivka looked through the back window, saw the men spill out of the café and into the street. They grew smaller and smaller. "Are we safe?" she asked her handler, turning back around.

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Just in case, you should get down."

Scott noticed the driver's gaze dart up to his rearview mirror. Then he angled the mirror a little bit more, probably hoping for a free show.

"Hey," Scott barked. "Eyes on the road."

After that, it didn't take long for the gunfire to start. Behind them, a silver Chrysler 300M with one of the suited gunmen hanging out the window raced to catch up. The first salvo of bullets shattered the back window of the cab, spilling glass onto Rivka and Scott's bodies. She screamed, and the driver instinctively ducked. "Holy shit," he yelled, glancing at his mirrors. "Who the hell are you people? What in God's name have you gotten me into?"

"Make this right," Scott said, as a full-auto burst of nine-millimeter slugs shattered one of the tail lights and sent sparks dancing off the rear chasis.

To Scott's astonishment, the driver handled the hairpin turn like a pro. "We aint outrunning anyone in this cab. It aint exactly the pride of the fleet, you know."

"Just keep the turns tight."

"Now you're gonna tell me how to do my job?" And he sped on for a quarter mile.

"Make this left." Scott heard metal scream and crunch as cars wrecked behind them after they bolted through the intersection. And still the driver sped on. A half mile this time.

"Don't take the bridge," Scott ordered.

Another burst stitched a jagged line through the trunk of the taxi cab, _thunk-thunk-thunk_.

"You got a better idea?" the driver asked.

"Yeah," Scott said. "Make this right." And instead of veering left to head onto the bridge, the driver swerved right, taking them down 19th.

However, the driver of the chase car was every bit as good, if not better than the taxi cab driver and he stayed on their tale. Then, as he inched closer, he executed a perfect PIT maneuver, turning into the taxi between the back bumper and the rear wheel, and sent the cab spinning out of control. As the world whipped past him, Scott wished he'd had the foresight to put on his safety belt. He had just enough time to hear the driver spit out a curse word before they smashed headlong into a light pole. The pole crumpled like it was made of tinfoil, fell, smashed in the hood of the cab, and rested there. A column of gray smoke belched skyward, then the world went black.

* * *

><p>Scott didn't know how long he'd been unconscious, but it couldn't have been long, he was still alive. When he opened his eyes he found Rivka screaming and struggling to get her door open. Blood blurred his vision, and his head throbbed with pain as he struggled to regain his bearings. <em>We were so close<em>, he thought. The McManus building, and the trap he'd set in advance for any potential pursuers, was only a few blocks away. "Rivka," he groaned, and he could taste the blood in his mouth.

"They're going to kill us," she screamed as she turned back to him. "Do something!"

"Rivka," Scott said again.

"What?" she yelled.

"Get down."

Her eyes went wide as saucers before she threw herself into his lap. And as she dropped below the level of the window, he caught sight of one of the suited men standing outside her door, MP5 on his hip, eyes hidden by dark sunglasses. At that moment, Scott reached for that switch deep in his mind that controlled his awesome power, his _mutation_, and he flipped it. What followed was an opening of the flood gates, as a red sea of scintillating energy erupted from his eyes in thick shafts, shattering the window and hammering the assassin in the chest hard enough to send him flying through a storefront across the street.

_Next target, next target_, Scott thought to himself as he scrambled to locate the second shooter. He found him standing directly behind the car, prepared to fire in support of his comrade, but he wore a look on his face that said he was taken off guard by Scott's sudden display of power. This was all the opening Scott needed, and he lowered the inter-dimensional wall that held his power in check again and fired a burst into the chest of this shooter as well. The safety glass disintergrated under the hellish burst of energy, and the column of ruby light shattered every bone in the shooter's torso as it flung him back into the windshield of his own car 60 feet away, crushing it like a soda can under the force of the impact.

Next, Scott blasted his door off the hinges and scrambled out of the cab and onto the street, where he spent the next few intense moments observing every inch of their little slice of the world, just in case the two shooters weren't alone.

"What just happened?" Rivka asked after she'd made her way out of the carcass of the taxi cab. The driver was still unconscious in the front seat, a thin line of blood crawling down the side of his face.

"We're safe," Scott answered, when no more cars or shooters materialized.

"What did you do?" she said, her voice thick with fear and confusion. "How did you-"

Scott turned back to face her, and met her wild eyes with his solid, reassuring gaze. "Rivka, I'm a _mutant_."

She must not have known what to say, because she just stood there in silence.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, but he didn't make any moves toward her. He knew better than that. The last person to find out he was a mutant was Sasha, an old girlfriend of his. And she had called the police on him, launching a city-wide manhunt. Needless to say he'd learned a sobering lesson.

A few more seconds passed as they stood there in silence. "Does this change things?" he asked.

She shook her head, slender arms hugging her torso. She looked devastatingly vulnerable. "What now?" she said.

"I remember the deal," he answered, clutching the package she'd given him. Then, he pulled a sleek, black phone from his pocket and went to his _contacts list. _

The party on the other end answered after the first ring. "How goes it?"

"Where are you?"

"The McManus building, as you commanded, my liege."

"Sarcasm after a gunfight. What could be better?"

"A gunfight?"

"Yeah."

"You win?"

"What do you think?"

"Nice. Where are you?"

"A couple blocks north. Pick us up." He glanced at the wreckage all around him. "You can't miss us. And Alex," he said, thumbing through the intel package that Rivka had given him, "schedule a meeting with dad. We have a _huge _problem."


	3. Chapter 3: Giant Fing Robots

Hey everyone! Thanks so much for the feedback, it is very much appreciated. Sorry I haven't posted in a while, but my computer was in the shop and then things just kept coming up. But, I'm back on track now and I've got a few new chapters for you. Hope you like them!

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Chapter Three: Giant F-ing Robots

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"Pewn, pewn, pewn!" Alex Summers said as arcs of scintillating blue-white energy lept from his fingertip-that he'd pointed like a gun-to sizzle, pop, and explode the three glass coffee mugs that lined the countertop ten feet away.

His older brother, Scott, looked up from the 300-page document with venom in his eyes. "What the hell?"

Alex grinned sheepishly and shrugged. "Target practice?" His brown eyes flashed in the light from the chandelier over Scott's table.

"In my kitchen?"

"Sooooorrrry," Alex replied. He leaned back in his chair, propped his feet up on the kitchen table, crossed his slender legs, and put his hands behind his head. "But, don't come crying to me when the crap hits the fan and I can't save your ass, because I can't hit the broad side of a barn." He shook his head, and mumbled under his breath, "Try to help a guy out and this is the thanks I get."

"It's a joy having you here, you know that?" Scott eyed the countertop. "Wait, you didn't shoot my 'Cool Kids Believe in Evolution' coffee mug, did you?" He stood up and went to the kitchen, but the three mugs were little more than dust.

"I'm not sure," Alex said. "I just grabbed whatever I could find." He brushed potato chip crumbs from his black V-neck shirt.

Scott felt the blood rush to his face. "Professor Essex gave me that mug as a graduation present," he said as he rifled through the cabinets.

"What's the big deal? It's just a dumb coffee mug." Alex's bare toes wiggled happily out from under frayed blue jeans.

"The big deal is you just do whatever you want and don't think about the consequences." Scott's eyes flashed red with anger.

Alex was unmoved. "What's your problem?"

"You're my problem." He jabbed a finger in his younger brother's direction.

Alex shook his head. "Nope. I'm not biting. I don't think this is about a coffee mug at all."

"It is."

Alex sat up. "What is it? Is it this?" He held up the stack of papers. "What could possibly be in here that's got you so worked up?"

Scott sighed. His brother was right. He liked the coffee mug, and it _was _a gift from his favorite professor at Georgetown, the man who'd given him his first job as a graduate assistant. But, it wasn't the real problem. "See for yourself," he said.

Alex cringed. "Uggh, don't make me read."

"There's lots of pictures." Scott loosened his tie and walked over to the sliding glass door that led out onto the patio. The sun was setting and pinkish-orange light spilled into his 1,000-square-foot Georgetown apartment. Leatherbound books filled the bookcases, trophies cluttered the shelves, family pictures lined the walls. One in particular caught his attention. It was a rare photo of Scott and his father posing after a baseball game in high school. He'd led his team to a state championship that year after posting a .740 batting average and not allowing a single run all year as a pitcher. He had a gift when it came to geometry and spatial reasoning, and it made him killer at pool and basketball as well. Nobody had ever seen anything like it. He'd even gotten drafted in the first round by the Chicago White Sox, and played some Minor League baseball for a little while. That is until Professor Essex came into his life and convinced him his destiny lay elsewhere. He frowned at the memories, folded his wiry-muscled arms across his chest, and turned his attention to the traffic outside.

"Is this real?" Alex said as he looked up from the stack of papers.

Scott's ears pricked up and he turned. "Looks that way."

Alex was silent for a beat. Then he dropped the intel packet on the table and jumped out of his seat. "Hell yeah!" he shouted.

A frown twisted Scott's face. "What?"

"This is the greatest day of our lives!"

"Come again?"

Alex smirked. "That's what she said."

Scott took a deep breath and exhaled. Alex testing his patience was par for the course, but that didn't mean it was appreciated.

"The government built giant, mutant-killing robots," Alex said, mercifully continuing his thought. He went to his brother and put both hands on his shoulders so that they were eye-to-eye. His smile swelled with every word. "Giant robots, Scott. Giant. F-ing. Robots." His fingers dug in. "It's everything we talked about when we were kids. It's everything we dreamed of." He tried to plant a big kiss on his brother's cheek but Scott stuck a hand up to intercept.

"This is not a game, Alex," Scott said as he pushed his younger brother away. "A lot of people are going to die because of those machines."

"Not if we find the base or factory or whatever and blow it up first." That smirk was back, along with a spark of mischief in the younger Summers' eyes.

"It's not that simple."

"Sure it is. You kick ass. I kick major ass. Together, we can handle anything."

Scott was silent. He recognized the look in his brother's eyes, he'd seen it before. It was his down-hill look, and it was up to Scott to be the brakes.

"That's your plan, we kick ass? You should really read the whole packet. The first order is for 100 Sentinels. That order was completed yesterday. We wouldn't last five minutes."

"Speak for yourself," Alex said. Confidence was not something he lacked, and as he planned his next pitch, music sprang from his smartphone and he picked it up. "It's a text message," he said, "from Karli. She wants us to turn on the news."

Scott grabbed the remote. "I thought Karli wasn't speaking to you anymore?" Karli was the third member of their crew. An odd mix of troubled teenager and child genius, her mutation was that she was born with two hearts. They'd met her on a trip to Boston to rescue a girl Alex liked. Karli had just graduated from M.I.T. with a PhD in electrical engineering and she used her skills to help them take down the human trafficking ring that Alex's girlfriend of the week had gotten mixed up in.

"They always come back." Alex flashed a perfect, white smile.

"Wow," Scott said, shaking his head. He turned the television on. "What channel?"

"Four."

"I'm coming to you live from the steps of the Superior Court of the District of Columbia," said a good-looking, dark-haired female reporter of vaguely middle-eastern decent. Her clear, smooth skin shone in the fading sunlight and her mouth bowed as pink and ripe as the sweetest dragon fruit. "Three Washington DC police officers who shot and killed an unarmed mutant teenager last month were found not guilty on all charges and released just moments ago."

The three officers descended the steps flanked by their lawyers, and were immediately swarmed by a piranha-like school of news reporters. The Channel Four reporter jammed her microphone into the fray.

A ham-faced man with close-cropped brown hair seemed willing to answer the firestorm of questions, even if the other men weren't. As he readied himself for the cameras, a smile on his face, his lawyer didn't look at all happy about it. "Officer Albert," said the Channel Four reporter, "how surprised were you with the verdict?"

He smiled, like some Viking king after a good pillaging. "Not at all. We just did our jobs. No, we did what any good, red-blooded American man would do, we protected our homes. We protected this city. We protected this country."

"From an unarmed child?" she added.

"No more questions," said the man's lawyer as he lept in front of his client like he was shielding him from a sniper's round. As the flock of reporters clamored for more answers the lawyer led Officer Albert away with the rest of the group.

Scott turned off the TV. "They got off."

"That's what I'm talking about," said Alex. "They shot that kid dead in the street, and no one cares." Scott felt his brother's power crawling along his skin as his anger increased; a thousand tiny fire ants biting at his exposed flesh. "Well, not anymore," Alex went on. "I thought that's what this was. This thing with me, you, and Karli. I thought this was about fighting back. At least, that's what you told me in the beginning. What's different now?"

"We're outgunned, Alex. There's no honor in dying for-"

"Stop it. That's bullshit and you know it. We don't really have a choice here, Scott. The people that wanna see mutants wiped off the face of the earth, we're all that stands in their way. That's it. Just us."

_You're right, _Scott thought. He grabbed his coffee off the table and finished it. It was cold by now, and much sweeter at the bottom. "It's not just us, though."

"What?" Outside, someone honked a car horn.

"I said, it's not just us." Scott rubbed his chin and felt a day's worth of short, spiky stubble.

"What do you mean?" That blue fire still burned in Alex's eyes and Scott knew there was no changing his mind about attacking the factory. Attacking was what Alex was good at. It was what came next that Scott wasn't so sure his brother could handle.

"Gabriel." Scott stared hard at his brother, studying his face for a reaction.

"What about him?" Alex looked confused.

"We need him."

"He's fifteen years old!"

"I don't care," Scott said. "When I was young and my powers first set in, I was alone. I had no one to turn to, no one to help me understand. I made mistakes. Big ones. But you had me. And Gabriel had both of us. He's better than we were at his age, and far more prepared. You've been talking to me for the last half-hour like I don't know what needs to be done. You're wrong. I do know what needs to be done. Now it's time for you come to grips with it."

"Where are you going?" asked Alex as he watched Scott grab his keys and a copy of the intel package off the table and head for the door.

"Gotta meet with the Colonel." Scott stuffed the documents into a backpack and slung it over his shoulder.

"Yeah, about that, why exactly do you have to meet with dad?"

"So I can find out what he knows?"

"You're telling him about this?"

"That's the plan."

"That's a horrible plan."

"What?"

"That's a horrible, crappy plan, and it's gonna get us killed."

"Killed, Alex? You're overreacting."

"Our father works at the Pentagon for God's sake. And we're planning on blowing up a government facility. Do you know what they call people who blow up government facilities?" He paused, but not long enough for Scott to answer. "Terrorists, Scott. They're called terrorists." He put his face in his palm and shook his head. "Let's go over this one more time, just in case you weren't listening. Our father…is an Air Force Colonel…who works at the Pentagon, and we…are TERRORISTS!"

Scott sighed heavily. "He might be able to help us."

Alex tried to step forward, but pretended that his feet were stuck. So with both hands, he lifted his right leg up and then his left. After that he flung an imaginary substance from his hands with a disgusted look on his face and his nose upturned.

Scott frowned. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry," Alex said, "It's just, the bullshit is really thick in here this time of year."

"Fine. He won't help us. I know that. But, at the very least I need to find out if he knew about the Sentinels. I need to hear it from his mouth."

"I still don't like it. What if he did know? What are you gonna do then?"

"I'm gonna kick his ass."

* * *

><p>"Is that our guy?" Victor Two disengaged the safety on his H&amp;K 9mm MP5 and thumbed the selection switch to "full auto."<p>

"Must be." Victor One watched from behind the steering wheel.

"Good thing for us Jansen was able to pull a DaVinci Code and scribble the plate number in his own blood before he blacked out."

Victor One cued his mic: "All units, this is Victor Victor. We have eyeball on the target. Who's backing?"

"Whiskey team-backing."

"X-ray team-Roger that."

"Yankee team-Roger that."

"Remind me again, do the suits want this guy dead or alive?"

"Fielder's choice. Alive if possible. Dead if necessary." He cued his mic again: "Victor Victor-target committed. Whiskey, X-Ray, Standby standby. Yankee team, search the apartment, kill anyone inside, then burn it."

"Yankee team-Roger that."


	4. Chapter 4: Boxed In

Chapter Four: Boxed In

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"We got a STOP STOP, nearside at number 3 K street," said Victor One. "Blue house. We'll overshoot, who has eyeball?"

"Roger that. X-ray has eyeball."

"Whiskey backing."

* * *

><p>"Where's mom and Gabriel?" Scott asked as he stepped into his parents' new 4,000 square foot ranch house. Silvery moonlight poured in behind him, framing him as he stepped into the elegant foyer.<p>

"Shopping for art supplies." Colonel Christopher Summers led his son down the hall to his study. He was dressed in black suit pants, and a white Oxford (no tie) with the sleeves rolled up and the buttons open to mid-chest. The black socks he wore made his footsteps quiet.

"Leaving you to fend for yourself?" The dry and fresh, piny odor of Juniper Berry caught Scott's attention. Even though this wasn't one of the houses he grew up in, it still smelled the same; like his father's cologne or a shot of gin. _When you weren't home, she used to spray your cologne all around the house; on the couches, on the rugs, on our beds, on her bed. She said it was for us, so we would know that you were always with us, but I was older than the others, I knew. She was lonely, and scared, all the time scared, and it helped her. Being able to smell you in every corner of the house helped her more than any of us will ever know. _

"As long as I've got a microwave I'll never go hungry," the Colonel said. "Have a seat." He sat at his desk, a leatherbound notebook in front of him. A black ink pen trimmed in gold lay beside it.

"What are you working on?" Scott knew his father was always planning; always strategizing.

"Just getting my thoughts together, that's all." The Colonel picked his pen back up and began jotting down more notes. "How's school?" he asked as he continued to write.

"Did you see the news?" Scott found himself surrounded by floor-to-ceiling bookcases. His eyes immediately went to the old copies of Sun Tzu's The Art of War, and Von Clausewitz's On War; two of his favorite books on military strategy and judging by the wear and tear in the two volumes, they were two of the Colonel's favorites too.

"You'll have to be more specific." Three different newspapers cluttered his father's cherry wood desk. It was apart of the Colonel's job at the Pentagon to stay abreast of current events.

"The three cops that murdered that kid and got off." Merely saying the words was enough to make Scott's blood run hot.

"Yeah. That's a terrible thing."

"What are they saying at the Pentagon?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do they care?"

"Scott, that's not exactly what we do." Colonel Summers continued to write in his notebook, not once taking his eyes off it.

"What about this?" Scott dropped the 300-page stack of papers on his father's desk. "Is this what you do?"

Colonel Summers studied the "book." Then he opened it and flipped through several pages before turning his attention to his son. "Where did you get this?" His voice was thick with anger and the tiniest bit of surprise.

"It doesn't matter." Scott fixed his father with a defiant stare.

"This isn't a game, Scott. Where the hell did you get this from?" Colonel Summers rose out of his chair. The vein in his neck bulged thick and blue with his anger.

"Tell me you didn't know about this." Scott didn't back down; he was a Redwood in a windstorm.

"What have you done?" The anger on Colonel Summers' face slipped away; he was almost pleading with his son.

But Scott's anger hadn't gone anywhere. If anything, it had grown. "Tell me you didn't know!"

The Colonel turned away and shook his head. "You don't understand."

Scott folded his arms across his chest. "What don't I understand? How you sold your family out so you could suckle at the power teat for a little while longer?"

"It's not like that. I'm just a staff member for General Ross, there was nothing I could do."

_I don't believe this, _Scott thought as he watched his father pace around the office. Knowing his father had knowledge of the Sentinel program actually made him sick to his stomach. "Then I guess that's where we're different." He turned his back on his father and stormed out of the office.

Colonel Summers followed him out. "What does that mean?"

Scott ignored him and headed for the nearest exit. The Juniper berry scent had at once gone from comforting to suffocating, and he couldn't stand it any longer.

"Hey! I'm talking to you." Colonel Summers had never been disrespected by any of his sons before.

"I'm gonna do what I have to do," Scott said. His eyes flashed vibrant red. "I'm gonna do what's right."

Colonel Summers exhaled sharply, and he looked down at the ground, then back up at his son. "Is that what you think you've been doing up until now? By operating a spy ring on U.S. soil…stealing government secrets?"

"That's not all I've been doing," Scott mumbled.

"You're going to make it worse."

"I'm done talking to you." Scott turned to walk away again, but the Colonel grabbed him by the shoulder.

"We're not done yet."

Scott whirled and fired a closed fist square into his father's jaw that dropped the older man on his ass against the wall. The blow landed with a resounding crack; a homerun over the centerfield wall that left the Colonel stunned and bleeding. A shelf shook enough from the impact that a blue vase teetered then crashed to the ground. An explosion of cerulean glass hurled shards in every direction til they lay on the ground like scattered puzzle pieces.

"I can't believe my father is a coward."

* * *

><p>- "X-ray to Victor One, I've got two heat signatures in the house. They are unarmed. Please advise."<p>

"Roger that on the two heat signatures. All units, Standby for takedown."

* * *

><p>"You need to learn to listen to someone other than yourself. No good can come from this. You don't know what you've gotten yourself into."<p>

"'All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.'" Scott jabbed a finger at him. "You taught me that."

"You don't understand." Colonel Summers hadn't bothered climbing to his feet.

_He looks so tired, _Scott thought. _Beaten. _"Explain it to me then. Explain to me how you know what they're planning, and yet you do nothing." Scott ran a hand through his hair. "You have three _mutant _sons for crying out loud."

"I'm working to find a solution-"

"It's way too late for that." Scott interrupted him.

"Son, you need to stop, and think about what you're doing. You're actions have consequences. Whether you realize it or not. You don't just steal information like that and not have to pay for it. Someone always has to pay."

A nearby window exploded inward.

A grenade bounced into the foyer.

Colonel Summers had just enough time to shout, "Get down!" before it detontated.

The explosion was blinding-white and louder than anything Scott had ever heard in his life.

The flash-bang grenade delivered on its desired effect. Scott's equilibrium had been wrecked, he had trouble standing, and as he tasted bile in the back of his throat, it was all he could do not to puke his guts out. The world trembled, white smoke filled his vision and he could just barely make out his father a few feet away from him trying to tell him something, but his hearing was gone, replaced by high-pitched ringing.

As the door was driven off its hinges and armed men spilled inside, his dad grabbed him and yanked him into the Dining Room to the left and out of the line-of-sight of the assualt team. Using hand signals he told his son, "Two hostiles. That way." Still dazed, Scott's training took over and he nodded his understanding.

Scott worked himself into a crouch as one of the shooters came into view from right to left, and before the agent could bring his weapon to bare, Scott unleashed a terrible burst of crackling, crimson energy that smashed into the man like a battering ram, catapulting him across the foyer, through the wall in the study, the east hall, and finally through a guest bedroom and out onto the lawn in a shower of brick and dry-wall.

A long burst of automatic gunfire chewed threw the wall chest-height to their right.

Scott threw himself to the floor and unleashed another hellish beam of energy, obliterating the wall and pummeling the shooter behind it.

"You just gonna lay there all day, princess?" the Colonel said as he climbed to his feet.

Scott shot his old man an acid look then followed him north into the kitchen. "What's the plan here?" he asked as he watched his father reach above the cabinet and come down with a jet-black, pistol-grip, pump-action shotgun.

"They're trying to box us in," Colonel Summers said as he loaded the shotgun. "There's a north door out back where the deck is, and another porch to the west. I say we divide and conquer. We already took out the team at the south entrance. I say we hit the west team next."

"No good," Scott countered. "We try to divide and conquer, then someone gets in behind us. We need to hightail it out of here."

"And right into the arms of whoever's waiting outside."

"What about the brand new door that I just made? Won't be anyone over there."

"We're not running. This is my home, and nobody is gonna run me out of it."

"We need to move. Trade time for space. Re-evaluate the situation, then hit back."

"No, dammit! You need to stop arguing and follow orders."

But then it was too late.

The team from the west came in from the laundry room, guns high, fingers on triggers.

Colonel Summers turned on the point man and loosed a blast from the shotgun that dropped the lead shooter in the doorway.

His wingman took his place and opened fire, hosing down the the kitchen with 9mm parabellum. Wood splintered, glass exploded, linoleum cratered.

Scott and his father hurled themselves behind the counters for cover as supersonic pieces of metal buzzed by overhead destroying everything in their way.

The colonel stuck the shotgun over the countertop and returned fire.

"Dad, we've got company." Scott noticed two more shooters approaching from the north.

The Colonel fired another blast over the countertop. "Take care of it."

_That simple, huh? _Scott thought as the west shooter returned fire; a long burst that fixed Scott and the Colonel under cover of the countertops, while the north shooters moved in for the kill.

_They have you surrounded Scott, and you and your old man are gonna bite it unless you do something! _Scott gathered himself, then unleashed a bolt of energy at the ceiling. The resulting explosion caused masonry to crash into the west shooter below, and as his body slumped like a lifeless toy, his weapon clacked harmlessly on the tiled floor.

That's when the Colonel came up with his shotgun and loosed a round into the chest of one of the north shorters, panned right, jacked another round in and blasted the last shooter.

Bodies hit the ground.

Blood pooled on the floor; spent shell-casings.

Scott climbed to his feet; dusted his hands off. "You think that's all of them?"

"I don't know. Check the house."

That's when Scott noticed a splash of blood on the sleeve of his father's white shirt. "You're hit."

"I'm fine," the Colonel said. "Check the house."

* * *

><p>"I told you so," Colonel Summers said after they'd checked the house and discovered no more hostiles.<p>

"Yeah."

"What if your mom and brother were here?"

They were on the steps outside the house, studying the quiet suburban street. Neighbors were starting to show their faces now; curiosity finally winning the battle with self-preservation. "I get it, dad, but…I don't see any other options. No one will fight for us. Not even you."

"What is it you want me to do? You want me to grab my shotgun and go fight giant robots with you?"

Scott smiled at the thought. "Maybe."

"I'm doing what I can."

"You keep a shotgun in your kitchen, I know you have to have some kind of plan for this."

"Well…I was gonna send your brother away."

"Where?"

"There's this man, a Dr. Charles Xavier. He's visited a couple of times asking about Gabe. He's asked about you and Alex too." Colonel Summers glanced at his arm and frowned. "This hurts like a sonofabitch."

"I figured," Scott replied.

Colonel Summers continued. "He says he can protect Gabe. He even showed me how the technology works. It masks the mutant gene, hiding it from the Sentinel's gene-scanning technology."

"What's the catch?"

"There is none. He just opened a school upstate. A place for people like you and your brothers. He just wants to teach kids to control their powers so they won't be a danger to themselves or the rest of society. He says you and Alex could teach there if you want; having already mastered your gifts the hard way."

"A school for people like us?"

Colonel Summers nodded.

"And you've seen the technology firsthand?"

"Firsthand."

"You've already decided, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"And you want Alex and I to go too."

"Will you?"

"You know Alex won't. He's not gonna turn down the chance to fight 50-foot-tall flying robots. And now that I think about it, I'm kind of looking forward to that too."

"I can't change your mind?"

Scott shook his head.

"Then, can I join you?"

Scott chuckled at that. "I'm sorry I hit you."

"I'm sorry I gave you a reason."


	5. Chapter 5: Karli Two Hearts

Chapter Five: Karli Two Hearts

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"Karli Two Hearts!" Alex poked his head in through the open passenger window with a cheesy grin on his face.

"Took you long enough," Karli grumbled. Slender arms and shapely breasts sprouted from a black bra top, faded blue jeans spilled over long legs like paint, and brown hair hung dark and curly down her back, while a tattoo of a pixie, scantily clad and bound in chains, decorated her right arm. Dark-skinned and doe-eyed, she sat slouched behind the steering wheel of a ten-year-old ocean-blue Ford pick-up truck,cleaning the dirt from her fingernails with a five-inch bowie knife.

"What?" Alex showed his surprise. "I left as soon as you said the words 'strip club.'" He climbed into the car and shut the door. The air stank of cigarette smoke and citrus air freshener, and his shoes disappeared under a thick layer of empty fast food cups and wrappers. "Okay, so let's go inside, what are we doing out here?"

"We're not going inside."

"Why not?" Alex drooled at the thought of the topless pleasures that awaited him inside the small, low-slung, rectangular building with the glowing neon sign up top that read: _Shady's_. A dozen automobiles running the gamit from clunker to S-class dotted a loose-gravel parking lot all around them.

"Because, if we go inside, we'll miss all the action." She turned a devilish grin in his direction.

"All the action?" He raised an eyebrow and felt a flutter in his stomach. _Could it be? _

"Yes, the action." She folded her knife and slipped it into her hip pocket. As her shirt lifted up with the movement, Alex was rewarded with a glimpse of her taut stomach, and a flash of a tattoo of a blood rose with razor-sharp thorns that stretched down her hip.

"Oh…I get it," he said, and he started to take off his shirt and undo his belt. _I knew it! _he thought to himself as he undressed. The moon hung high and white like the beam from a search light, the sky was full of stars, and a street light stood guard right next to the car they were in, bathing them in light, but Alex didn't care. _I'm a young man, _he thought, _sue me. _

"Um…What are you doing?" Karli's brow furrowed as her head tilted away from him.

The smile on his face dropped as his mind tried to reconcile the actual look on her face with the one he expected. "You said you didn't want to miss the _action_."

"And you thought by 'action,' I meant sex with you, in the parking lot of a strip club?"

He shrugged. "Why not?" Memories of them together rocketed through his mind: elementary school playgrounds, department store dressing rooms, the bathroom of a fastfood restaurant…even Scott's bed.

She sighed and shook her head as he slipped his shirt back on in a huff. "Then, what are we doing here?" he asked.

"You're here because you're bored," she told him; traces of a Boston accent seeped through. "I'm here because I have work to do."

"You work here?" _Cool, _he thought."Then why aren't we going inside?"

"What's wrong with you?" She didn't hide her anger very well, and he found it harder and harder to keep up with what was going on. "We met on my graduation day from M.I.T., why the hell would I be working at a strip club?"

"I'm sorry, I just…" he shook his head slowly and raised his arms in frustration. "…I have no idea why we're here."

She pointed her knife at the building. "The pigs that killed that kid and got off are inside."

"Oh," he said. "You thinking payback?"

"And then some."

Alex smiled. "It's not sex, but I guess it'll do."

The smallest of smiles crept across her face. "You don't have to get Scott's permission?"

"Very funny," he answered. "And no, I don't have to get Scott's permission. He probably won't like this, but that's his problem."

She picked up a pack of cigarettes from the dashboard and plucked one from the package.

"So, what's the plan?" Alex asked.

"The plan is: we wait." She slipped the square in between dark, painted lips. "You mind?"

Alex held up a finger crackling with blue energy and used it to light her cigarette. "Wait, huh?" He watched her lips pucker as she sucked in the noxious smoke. "I can do that."

* * *

><p>"You ever feel guilty?" Karli asked him after a couple of minutes had passed.<p>

"About what?" Sixty seconds ago he could no longer take the boredom and began playing a game on his smart phone.

"The way you look."

"What's wrong with the way I look?" He paused the game and lowered the flap in front of him to glance at himself in the mirror. _Blonde hair:short on the back and sides and lightly styled up top; brown eyes like pools of chocolate; the lantern jaw of a war hero; perfect, white teet_. He turned his head so he could see the left side of his face in the mirror. _Nope, nothing. Nothing wrong with me._

"The way _we _look."

"What's wrong with the way _we _look?" He'd seen plenty of Karli in the past to know that she was attractive, and not just in a hot, biker chick kind of way either.

"The kid they killed, pink skin, gills, a dorsal fin. He didn't have a chance. They knew what he was, on sight. We'll never have to go through that. Not me, not you, definitely not Scott…"

"And you actually feel guilty about that? I didn't think you _had _feelings."

"I don't. I was just asking a question…a dumb question, that I probably shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's not a dumb question." Alex paused his game and rested the phone in his lap. "I guess, if I thought about it, I do feel kind of guilty. I mean there are some really ugly people out there, and look at me, I'm perfect. But, the way I see it, if somebody's got to be pretty in this world, it might as well be me."

"You can't be serious for one minute?"

"My curse."

* * *

><p>Five minutes later there was a tap at the window. A tall kid, younger than them and wearing a plain black t-shirt stood outside the car aiming a big bore .45 automatic at them through the window. "Get out," he barked.<p>

"You've got to be shitting me," Alex said. He could feel the power rise inside of him like water being brought to a boil.

"Don't do anything," Karli commanded him.

The kid waved the gun. "Maybe a bullet will help you hear better," he said.

"No, no, it's okay," Karli said. "We're getting out." She held her hands up and opened her door.

Alex did the same, while fighting to keep his temper in check.

"Why am I not frying this guy?" he asked as they watched the kid climb into the pick-up and start the engine. The air around him had begun to warm considerably. To Karli it felt like someone had opened an oven door a foot away from her face.

"Because we don't want to make a scene."

"This is bullshit."

"Well, it's my truck, so don't worry about it." The truck spat gravel behind it as it pulled off and left the lot.

"You'll never see that truck again." Alex pointed his hand like a gun, used his thumb as a sight, and tracked the pick-up as it sped down the main road.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "I never really liked it that much anyway."

When the truck was out of sight, he dropped his hand. "Should we at least call the cops?"

She shot him a dead-eyed glare.

"Right, well, come on. I'm parked over here. Try not to let my car get stolen too."

* * *

><p>"Here come our boys," Karli said after they'd sat in Alex's car for five minutes. "Showtime."<p>

"Finally." He started to open his door.

"Alex, for the last time, stop. Don't move until I tell you to."

"You said showtime!"

"I feel like I'm talking to a child."

"And I feel like I'm talking to someone who doesn't quite understand the nuances of the English language."

"Nuances of the English language?" She raised an eyebrow in his direction.

"Yeah."

"Don't move until I tell you to," she said with a stone-faced expression.

"But, they're getting away," Alex said as he watched two of the cops climb into a silver SUV and two other men climb into a black sedan.

"Just wait for it," she commanded, and right before his very eyes, the ignition whined, and the SUV erupted in a fiery, orange explosion that lit up the night sky like a second sun.

The explosion boomed loud enough to be heard from miles away, and the blast wave it emitted blew the doors off the SUV, crushed every car in a thirty-foot radius and shattered every window for six blocks. Thick pillars of black smoke churned skyward like black fingers clawing at a velvet sky.

"Holy shit, Karli, did you do that?" said Alex as he tried to shake off the ringing in his ears. Also he couldn't breath. He felt like someone had stomped on his chest.

"Now it's time to get out of the car," she said. Moonlight glinted off the razor-sharp edge of the bowie knife as she clutched it in one hand and reached for the door with the other.

Alex coughed and grabbed her arm. "We need to get the hell out of here."

"Let go of my arm, Alex." Her anger spilled out, hot and scalding, and he instinctively drew back. She wasn't powerful like he and his brother were, but she had something they didn't. She had a darkness to her; a hardness. But, never in his wildest nightmares did he think she was this dark, and he let her go.

Fat tongues of red-orange flame licked at the SUV's charred, black carcass as Karli stalked towards it. A body spilled out of the sedan, bloody and burnt but still alive.

_I can't let her do this, _he thought. He streaked through the parking lot after her and grabbed her around the waist, lifting her off her feet.

"Let go of me!" She kicked and hammered at him, bringing the handle of the knife down on the back of his hand again and again. But, he wouldn't budge.

"I'm getting you out of here," he said, as she sliced open his wrist with a vertical cut from her knife. It hurt like hell but he didn't let go. His eyes flashed with electric blue energy as he grabbed her knife-wielding arm. "I'm not letting you do this."

"I wont let them get away with it." She struggled to break his grip as people began to spill out of the club.

"You call that letting them get away with it?" he told her as he struggled to get her back to his car.

"Let go, Alex!"

"No," he said as he forced her into the car. Shards of glass littered the seat, and with one hand he brushed them onto the floor.

"Fine," she said as he forced her into the seat, and another explosion tore apart the night. This one every bit as horrifying as the first. Only this time Alex didn't have the protection of his car's steel chassis, and the blast wave hit him like a bus, snatching him off his feet and slamming him to the ground ten feet away.

He blacked out for a second and when he came to, Karli was waiting for him in the passenger seat of his windowless car. He slid in behind the wheel and the two-door kicked up a rooster-tail of gravel as they peeled out of the parking lot.

"That was fucking crazy," he shouted at her as he drove 20 miles per hour over the speed limit.

She stared out the window, black hair blowing in the wind, and ignored him.

"We don't need this, Karli. Not with everything coming up. I can't believe you would do this. Holy shit. Is that your car?" he said as they came upon a smoldering, mangled, mess of an automobile in the right hand lane. As Alex swerved left to evade it, the realization sunk in. Not only had she blown up the two cop cars, she'd blown up her own car too. "Karli, you've lost it."

That's when his phone rang. It was Scott.

"Hello?"

"What'd you do?"

"What? Nothing." Alex glanced at his mirror and saw three giant, black mushroom clouds behind them.

"Why is my apartment on fire?"

"I don't know. I left right after you did."

"Where are you?"

"Uh," he looked at the psychopath in the passenger seat. "Hanging out with Karli."

"Good. I'll meet you at her place so we can set this plan in motion. We need to hit these bastards back. And we need to hit them back, now."

Alex glanced at Karli, again. "I don't know if that's such a great idea." _Maybe you should tell him that Karli is crazy._

"They followed me to mom and dad's, and they torched my apartment. They're not letting the grass grow under their feet, and neither should we."

"What about in the morning, is that okay?" _Now, Alex, tell him now._

"That's fine. But, Alex, first thing in the morning, be ready to work."

"Great. See you then."

_Whoops. _


	6. Chapter 6: The Reinforcements

Chapter Six: The Reinforcements

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"And all one hundred of these are operational right now?" Senator Kelly studied the finished sentinels. They towered like giant midevil knights, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, gleaming in the amber light that slanted down from the rafters. _My very own army, _he thought_._

"Absolutely." Dr. Bolivar Trask pushed up his glasses with a finger. "Everything is right on schedule."

Kelly studied the scientist. He was in his early 40s, average height and build with terrible posture. Dirty blonde hair sat on top of a narrow face with small, blue eyes receding into his skull. He was dressed in a white labcoat, black trousers and black shoes, and he wasn't wearing glasses. He looked like a man who wore glasses.

His assistant nipped at his heels. She was in her late 20s, tall and slim, with curly blonde hair and big, beautiful eyes that glittered like emeralds. She was dressed in a similar white labcoat and wore a charcoal-colored dress underneath with black heels. Her name was Dr. Laine Allsop and she dutifully carried a clipboard and hung on every word her mentor said.

"Then why can't I shake the feeling that something isn't right." Kelly folded arms across his chest and studied the facility: machinery clanked and conveyor belts hummed; the smell of paint and burining metal tickled his nose and the back of his throat. He could taste the smoke.

Trask shook his tiny head, unconvinced. "Whatever the problem is, it's not on our end."

"Indulge me."

"Dr. Trask is the world's leading expert in robotics, and a shoe-in for the Nobel Prize for his work here. He doesn't have to 'indulge' you," Dr. Allsop interrupted.

Trask feinged a smile. "Will you excuse us, please," he said to Kelly as his hand locked on her elbow and he took Dr. Allsop aside. "Get ahold of yourself," he spat. "That's the future President of the United States you're talking to. Our careers are on the line every time he sets foot in this place."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just can't stand for people to question you like that." Her voice cracked. "You're a genius."

"And you're sweet, Dr. Allsop. You really are. But, save it for when we're alone, okay?"

She clutched her clipboard and nodded; big, emerald eyes downcast.

"Perhaps it's the color that's giving you pause," Trask said as he returned to the senator's side. "You know, magenta is not the most popular color for war machines."

"The color stays," Kelly said. _My wife loved that color_, he didn't say. "What about the security?"

"Security is state-of-the-art."

"Who designed it?"

"I did." Trask barely hid his satisfaction, and Dr. Allsop gave his arm a poorly hidden squeeze. But, Kelly wouldn't let the issue die.

"You're pleased with yourself, I see. Apparently you've already forgotten that you had a spy working for you. A spy under this very roof."

"That leak has been taken care of."

"How, exactly?"

"We know who they are, we know where they live, and we're keeping the pressure on them. My agents will have the entire network rolled up within the next 24 hours."

"I've seen the after action reports. Your men can't handle these people, whoever they are."

"Then it's a good thing the reinforcements are here."

* * *

><p>"That's unbelievable. He let his fellow congressmen have sex with his wife, just so he could get their votes?" Sunlight flashed off the green beer bottle that the burly man with the farmer's tan, sitting across from Sebastian Shaw, clutched in a massive, hairy hand.<p>

"For ultimate power?" Shaw said. He took a drink of amber-colored Scotch from a crystal tumbler; the smooth, smokey, fiery fluid burned his throat on the way down. "Men have done worse."

"Then, men are disgusting," his companion said, finishing his beer and motioning for the waiter to bring another.

Shaw had to remind himself that it wasn't actually a burly man with a farmer's tan sitting across from him, but rather a tall statuesque, blue-skinned woman. A woman with the astonishing mutant ability to shape-shift into any humanoid being she'd ever laid eyes on. A woman whose charm, professionalism, and skill stood without peer in the non-state sanctioned intelligence community. A woman perfect for the job he had in mind.

"You'll get no argument from me," Shaw said.

The waiter, slightly built and clean-shaven, brought her a new Heineken and removed her old one. She drained half of it in one drink. "Is that it?" she asked as her gaze settled on the manilla folder that Shaw removed from his briefcase.

Shaw nodded his head. "Everything you'll need. The malware, a floorplan of the facility, and full-color photographs and dossiers on all essential personnel."

She opened it and smiled. "Beautiful."

* * *

><p>"You don't listen to me at all, do you?" Alex Summers said as he propped his feet up onto the control panel. Starlight spilled through the safety glass of the cockpit while the steady thrum of the plane's Rolls Royce engines threatened to lull them to sleep.<p>

"What do you mean?" Scott grabbed his brother's legs and yanked. "Feet off the control panel, pal."

"I specifically told you, Karli is off her rocker." Alex produced a small bag of peanuts, as if they were on a commercial flight, and disinterestedly popped one into his mouth.

"And what girl that you've slept with, have you not accused of being crazy after things went south?" Scott's eyes flitted from the altimeter to the radar panel, to the fuel gauge, never resting; he was too wired for the upcoming mission.

"This is different," Alex said; his face darkened with unexpected seriousness.

Scott raised an eyebrow at the look on his brother's face, but even if what he said was true, it was too late now. "It doesn't matter," Scott said. "She's a big brain. We need her if we're going to pull this off. She built us a jet, for crying out loud," He gestured at the cockpit surrounding them. The plane had been fashioned from spare parts salvaged from a junkyard, and the air was still thick with the smell of gunmetal and grease.

"We could've taken dad's prop plane."

"No way. This thing has everything: air-to-air missiles, air-to-surface missiles, a canon, stealth, radar, anti-radar missiles, and super-sonic speed."

"Does it self-destruct?"

"Why would it self-destruct?"

"Because it was built by a crazy person," Alex whispered.

Scott shook his head. "Wow."

Alex's arms folded across his chest. "If this thing has so many missiles, why don't we just ripple off a couple and light this place up from a mile away?" His brown eyes glittered in the dim light of the cockpit.

"No good. Intel says there are usually a few stragglers burning the midnight oil."

"So, what! They're probably just building more death machines to kill us all with. We'd be doing the world a favor."

"We don't kill people."

"Umm, those eye-beams you keep smashing people with... aint exactly love-taps."

"I've never killed anyone."

"That you know of. You've never stuck around long enough to find out."

Scott was silent.

"Gabriel, you're apart of this, what do you think?" Alex said. Gabriel sat a few feet behind them and across from Karli. He was dressed in dark clothing like his brothers: navy blue turtle neck, navy blue cargo pants; not black, sometimes black could be too dark and it worked against you on a nighttime op, actually making you too visible; shadows and such.

"She's sexy and smart," Gabriel said. "What's not to love?" He gazed at the sleeping Karli; the soft rumble of her snoring tickled his ear drums.

Alex looked startled. "What?"

Scott shook his head. _Not you too_, he thought. "Reign it in, Loverboy. We need to focus on the task at hand."

"Screw you, I am focused," Gabriel barked.

Scott raised a hand. "Alright, alright, take it easy." _Freaking teenagers_; _unbelievable_.

Alex looked at Scott with eyebrows raised and whispered, "Just so we're clear, I said it first. All of this is a bad idea."

* * *

><p>"You're up," Scott said, as he, Alex, Karli, and Gabriel stood in front of a 10-foot-tall electric fence topped with razor wire. The grass on the other side of the fence smelled freshly cut, like the end of summer and the beginning of football practice. Crickets chirped in the wooded area behind them like an orchestra, and a cool breeze played across Scott's face.<p>

"It's about time," Alex said, and as he held his right hand out, fingers slightly curled, arcs of blue-white energy danced in and around the palm of his hand until they finally coalesced into a basketball-sized orb of crackling energy, which he then hurled at the fence, disintegrating a portion wide enough for two people to walk through. Tendrils of smoke curled up from his hand as the frayed edges of the fence glowed red like the tip of a cigarette. "Ladies first." His arm stretched out to show them the way.

"Not yet, Karli," Scott said.

"Actually, I was talking about you." Alex smirked; his eyes threw out errant sparks of blue-white energy.

Scott ignored him. "Gabe, you ready for this?"

Gabriel stepped up to the fence, and hesitated. Sweat had already begun to bead across his brow.

Scott put a hand on his shoulder to calm him. "You can do this. You're ready." Scott felt the boy's wiry muscles tense like metal chords. He hoped he was right about his baby brother. Otherwise, he would have a lot of explaining to do.

Gabriel took a deep breath and nodded. "I can do this. I'm ready."

"Ready for what?" Alex said. "What's going on?" As he watched his younger brother gingerly step through the hole in the fence. The boy's eyes flashed with gold energy as he passed.

"How are you not dead yet?" Karli asked. Alex glared daggers at her. "I'm serious," she said. "You don't pay attention in briefings, you have no idea what's on the other side of this fence. How are you not dead yet?"

"Umm, there's grass on the other side of this fence," Alex said, defiantly.

Karli shook her head with distaste.

"Plasma mines," Scott said. "The field is laced with them, all the way up to the main building." Scott pointed at the massive structure that looked like it could've housed an aircraft carrier. "Gabriel's going to step on them, detonate them, and try to control the energy before it incinerates him."

Alex was startled. "What's going on here? Am I in the Twilight Zone or something? Since when am I the only sane person on this team?"

"He made his choice, Alex. Now be quiet so he can concentrate," Karli said.

As they watched, hearts in their throats, Gabriel stepped on the first plasma mine. Gold light flashed hot, then mercifully disapated.

"He did it!" Alex could hardly contain his excitement.

"Still a long way to go," Scott said, taking a step forward. "C'mon people, he disarms, we follow."

The next few minutes took days to pass as Gabriel continued his trek through the minefield, absorbing the explosions as he went. About halfway through the minefield he absorbed an explosion that caused him to fall to one knee, clutching his abdomen as his body crackled with arcs of golden light. The grass underneath him burned to ash for three feet in every direction, and when he coughed, gold sparks flew from his mouth.

"Release the energy, Gabe," Alex ordered.

"Not yet," Gabriel said as he fought to his feet and staggered forward.

When they reached the end of the minefield Gabriel's whole body trembled, spilling out golden energy from every pore.

"That was a great job, lil bro, but now it's time to let go. You look like the Human Torch right now, and it aint exactly helping us keep a low profile." Alex's gaze swept the area for enemies.

"The time for low profiles is over," Scott said, "the armed patrol will be here any minute."

"Try, right now," Karli said as they all registered the sound of heavy footfalls approaching.

When the guards rounded the corner, they froze in their tracks at the sight of the four young mutants standing at the side entrance. They lifted their guns to open fire, but Gabriel was already airborne, and moving with great speed. Flying toward them, he unleashed a crackling bolt of gold energy that smashed into the left guard's chest, and sent him flying back thirty feet to slide across the dry grass, mercifully missing one of the hidden plasma mines. As the second guard raised his gun, Gabe slammed into his face, fist-first, his momentum driving the guard helplessly through the air, where he landed harshly on his back, amidst the cracking of bone.

Still scintillating with energy, he landed behind the team just in time to watch Karli attempt to pick the lock on the door.

"Step back," Alex said, grabbing her on the shoulder. She shot him an angry look. Then he added: "Please?" and she reluctantly did what he asked. With a smirk on his face, he blew the electronic lock mechanism to hell and pulled open the door.

"Eventually, I am going to be allowed to do something, right?" she asked, with her hands on her hips and a frown on her face.

"We're in," Scott said as he crossed the threshold first. "Let's get to work."


	7. Chapter 7: Told You So

Chapter Seven: I told you so

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"Somebody pinch me," Alex said. He found himself staring at an assembly line teeming with 50-foot-tall, purple-and-maroon-armored Sentinel robots. Scores of the machines loomed already complete and still scores more rested in various stages of completion. Arms on hooks that hung from the ceiling, armored chestplates, legs, dangerous-looking laser cannons and various other pieces of equipment populated the conveyor belts that cris-crossed the factory floor. Computer workstations sprouted up at various intersections and two ladders led to the second level where engineers had worked on the electronics in the robot's heads. "Ow." He winced as Karli slammed a fist into his shoulder. "I said pinch, not punch."

"Tomato, Tom-ahh-to," she replied.

"Karli, what do you need?" Scott asked.

"Just give me thirty seconds to interface and we'll have our very own Gundam."

Blank faces stared back at her.

"Big O?"

More blank stares.

"Gigantor?"

Nada.

"Really?"

"Sorry," they said in unison.

Then a lightbulb went on in her head. "Optimus Prime?"

"Oh," all three brothers said in unison.

"In thirty seconds we'll have our very own Optimus Prime," Alex said. "Sweet."

Scott removed his glasses with one hand. "Alright people, get to work."

...

Forty-five seconds later, chunks of metal wrapped in red-orange flame fell from the sky like molten rain as Scott, Alex, and Gabriel unleashed shaft after shaft of destructive energy on the lifeless automatons, destroying a dozen machines.

In the heat of the moment, Scott almost fired upon Karli's Sentinel as it hummed to life and stepped forward. Then, he watched as it raised its left fist high, then drove its elbow down into the chest of the Sentinel to its left, causing the machine to collapse under the force of the impact, it's chest plate caved in like a catcher's mitt. Then, Scott watched as Karli commanded her new toy to use it's right arm to hammer the Sentinel to its right until it crashed to the ground, headless.

"Take the kid gloves off," Scott yelled at Karli over the cacophony of destruction around them, and she did, as a burst of energy from the palm of her robot's hand cut one of the stationary sentinels in half.

One hundred yards away, Alex watched and shook his head.

...

"Who else has had enough of this?" Gabriel asked after five minutes of blasting the helpless, mechanical titans.

"We knew this would be a marathon coming in," Scott said.

"A marathon of boredom," Alex added. "Karli, can't you at least make them fight back or something?"

"No," Scott said. "It's time for Karli to stop playing rock-em sock-em robots anyway and upload the virus."

"What do we need a virus for?" Alex asked, then he held up his fists, crackling with blue-white energy. "We've got these."

Gabriel laughed.

"Yeah, well, as impressive as those are, it's still possible that some tech weenie could salvage the hard drives after we bust up the computers. This virus will wipe the computers clean."

"What about the paper files?" Gabriel asked.

"We went over this in class, children."

"Screw you, this is my first mission!"

"The guy who runs this place, Dr. Trask, keeps all the paper files in his office," Karli said.

"At least somebody paid attention." Scott frowned at his brothers.

"And where is his office?"

"That concrete bunker way in the back."

"Well get to it, smart guy. We'll clean up here."

...

"Look out!" Gabriel yelled, moments later, as he dove into Karli, knocking her out of the way as a blast of laser fire from a previously unmoving sentinel cratered the ground.

"What the hell is going on?" Alex dodged a column of pink-white energy and returned fire, disintegrating the entire right side of the Sentinel's body with one massive burst. The frayed left side collapsed and shook the ground underneath them.

"Be careful what you wish for," Karli said.

"You did this?" Alex shouted. Then he froze as he heard the sound of half a hundred Sentinels coming to life.

...

The 50-foot-tall Sentinels stumbled forward with jerky, ponderous movements, more walking tank instead of fighter jets. Their highly sensitive electronic radar tracked the four mutants with pinpoint accuracy, and in the enclosed space, the CPUs calculated the chance of survival for the intruders at approximately zero-point-one percent. Each armed with a high-intensity plasma cannon, all 50 remaining sentinels opened fire at once. Of the 50 shots fired, 48 of them missed, leaving 48 smoking holes in the ground.

...

"Move!" Scott shouted before a titanic blast of energy blew him twenty feet through the air where he crashed into a computer terminal and blacked out.

...

Things were happening too fast for Gabriel's body to respond. Though he'd had training, he hadn't had anywhere near the amount of training and experience that his two older brothers did, and when the 50 sentinels lurched to life, he dove for cover. He almost made it, but for one errant beam that blasted him into the east wall, 30 feet from where Scott landed. He too, slipped into unconsciousness.

...

Karli's sentinel sprang into action, firing three quick bursts with the right hand. Then it slid to a stop and fired three more shots with the left hand. All six beams hit their mark and blew apart a half-dozen enemy sentinels. "You just had to get cocky, didn't you?"

"Can't help it." Alex forced a smile as energy rode forward from both of his hands in one long electric blue column. A second later, two sentinels standing one-in-front-of-the-other exploded into massive black-yellow clouds of smoke and fire. "Keep them off my brothers."

"Alex, I don't know how to tell you this, but the boys took some pretty bad hits." An incoming burst of fire cut her sentinel's left arm in half. The frayed wires spat out a fountain of yellow sparks. "Damn it."

"Don't worry about them, they'll be fine. Just don't let them get stepped on." He extended both arms out wide and the energy lept from his hands. Sedan-sized holes punched into two more enemy sentinels turning them into giant statues of flaming wreckage.

...

Scott woke up with a splitting headache. His shirt had been almost burned completely off, and he could already feel the mass of purple bruises forming on his back, from where he hit the wall. He surveyed the battlefield. Pyres raged all around him, singeing the hair on his arms. Thick clouds of oily black smoke threatened to choke him, and smoldering wreckage and debris blocked his sight of the rest of his team. Nearly three dozen sentinels stilled roamed, unleashing hellish burst after hellish burst at whatever mutant still stood. He didn't see Karli's sentinel fighting back so he assumed it had been destroyed. If that was the case she would either be laying low or dead, and Alex and Gabriel would be fighting for the four of them.

Scott climbed a fifteen foot pile of debris for a better view. Down below, he spotted Karli taking cover behind a pile of giant mechanical body parts, as Alex fought alone against the remaining sentinels. At a distance of 200 meters Scott opened fire sending a long, sustained beam of crimson energy lancing across the battlefield. 200 meters away, three sentinel heads erupted into great, orange fireballs. Alex glanced over at him and waved. _Where's Gabriel? _He scanned the ground, beginning with where he stood and worked his way outward until he spotted his baby brother laying in a crumpled, glowing heap against the wall. "No!" He took a step toward the youngest Summers brother, but an internal voice gave him pause. _Finish the job, Scott. Then worry about casualties. _

He ran for the office and a pair of Sentinels lumbered across his path, palms outstretched. He dropped them both with a sweeping blast from his eyes.

"Stop!" He saw two scientists making a run for the stairs: Trask and an unknown female. Scott tired of this battle, and he saw a way to end it. He lashed out with a devastating blast, blowing the ground apart in front of them, and hurling the scientists ten feet through the air.

Then, he made his way through the black smoke and obliterated the door to Trask's office. Once inside, he set about destroying everything.

...

Scott had just completed his task when he heard Alex scream, "NO!"

He burst through the office door and back into the factory to find the last two dozen sentinels frozen in place, their once sinister, glowing eyes, now lifeless and dim. He kept searching until he found Alex and a healthy, smokey-handed Gabriel. Then he tracked Alex's gaze and found a sentinel. Underneath its massive left foot lay Trask and his assistant's flattened, mangled corpses. He continued tracking and found Karli holding the remote.

"Shit," he whispered.

Alex glared at him and then shouted at the top of his lungs, "I TOLD YOU SO!"


End file.
